In the darkness,
Apricot blossoms rained all night.
Beyond this terrace of an old world,
A lighthouse circled in forensics of cut stars.
At the edge of scripted lives,
We wait without expectation overlooking city lights –
Knowing our minor revelations would come again,
And seem new.
In the darkness before waking,
I recalled votives at Abbazia di Santi Severo e Maririo
Holding empty years of tired fire,
Like a rain of apricot blossoms –
Like empty expectation of city lights,
Burning for scripted lives
With no medics on the way.